


Rule One

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Companion Sam [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Origenes, Original Species, Original planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's first trip with the Doctor isn't entirely as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule One

**Author's Note:**

> Haha look at my crappy artwork this is how I keep track of which planet is which because I've come up with like 12.
> 
> Enjoy the super-fluff.

Sam startled awake, disoriented for a moment. He sat up in the too-soft bed in the too-comfortable room with the too-perfect lighting and wondered if maybe he was still dreaming - but no. A dream wouldn't smell like ozone or include someone like the Doctor, because the Doctor was inconceivable even for someone whose adolescence had been spent killing the stuff of nightmares.

He was wide-awake now, residual terror of the dream pumping through his system, so he got up. The Doctor had said there was a library; maybe he could find a book on how the TARDIS worked. He knew it would probably be too complicated for him to understand, but if he started there maybe he could figure out what he needed to learn. It wasn't that Sam didn't _trust_ the Doctor to know how to fly the thing; it was more that Sam needed to know how to get back home if the Doctor died, or was hurt. And, okay, some of the noises the engine had made when the Doctor started it up had terrified him, but really, Sam was just interested. He was in too deep to have doubts now.

He pulled on his tatty old sneakers - the Doctor had told him he could go through the closet and find better clothes in his size, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet, and besides, he wasn't entirely sure which set of clothes he'd look through - and padded out to the hallway. The watch he hadn't removed said it was two-thirty in the morning, just an hour after he'd finally fallen asleep. The Doctor had set a flight path, so he had no idea if it was set in the right time zone. Or if there even was a time zone, where they were going. Did all civilizations mark time? How would they function without timekeeping?

Shit. _Which way do I turn?_ The TARDIS was too damn big - maybe he should draw a map. But what if he lost the map and someone else got their hands on the ship? Something told him the Doctor was too old and too powerful to have not made a few enemies, and it was no use making it easier for them.

Well, if he kept walking, he'd learn his way around eventually, even if he couldn't tell the difference between the stylized circles on the doors yet - the Doctor had pointed at a door across from the one leading to the main room and told him that was a bedroom he could use, and that his own was downstairs, but that was the extent of his knowledge of the rooms. He thought the hallway followed a circle around the main room and that there was a floor below them, but beyond that he had no idea.

He found a swimming pool further clockwise, deeper than he'd ever seen. In another one he found the closet, larger than the bottom floor of the house he'd squatted in for years and organized somehow, which he knew only by the hanging signs with more stylized circles. Next to that was a fully-furnished kitchen; the stove and sink were the only appliances he recognized. Past those were what looked like a science lab, judging by the beakers, and then a room painted black with a white grid.

He circled around back to his room and he was still wide-awake; his watch said it was nearing four. He considered, and ultimately decided to go down to the main room.

The engines were still whooshing softly. Sam stepped down the stairs, taking time to examine the room. The handrail was made of some kind of metal Sam hadn't seen before, molded into a single piece without any sign of the joins that had to exist. When he reached the bottom, he realized the floor was subtly different; reaching down to press on it with his hand, he realized it was just slightly springy, enough to make it easier to stand for long periods but not enough to be obvious.

He walked over and sat in a chair, staring up at the column that dominated the room and the oscillation of its centerpiece. Eventually he closed his eyes and pictured the Impala; it had been almost five years since he'd ridden in the car, but it was forever imprinted in his memory - the growl of the engine, the hum of the floorboards where he would sit in the backseat, Dean by his side. He fell asleep like that, listening to the heart of the machine that had to be better than where he'd been and picturing the machine that held the best and worst memories of his life.

"Hello there. Is the bed wrong again?"

Sam jerked awake. "Wha?"

"Is the bed wrong again?"

Sam rubbed sleep out of his eyes and glanced at his watch. _5:45._ It was the longest uninterrupted sleep he'd had in years. "No, sorry, didn't mean to - what do you mean, _again?_ How can a bed be wrong?"

"You'd be surprised how many ways a bed can go wrong. Too long, too short, too solid, not solid enough. So. Is it wrong?"

"No. No. Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"Nope! Woke myself up." The Doctor grinned at him. "What woke you up?"

Sam shrugged, not about to tell him. "Just woke up."

"So you came to the noisiest room in the place."

"It's not that loud," Sam said.

"Right. Well. We're about to land. Plan was to let you sleep in, but! Obviously, change of plan. We'll show up right around one their time. Twenty-six hour day, by Earth time. Seventeen hours by theirs."

"Will we be able to breathe?"

"Yep! Origenes is twenty-five percent oxygen in the atmosphere. More than Earth. You might get a little high, won't that be fun?"

Sam blinked at him. "High. On oxygen."

"Oh, that's always fun, isn't it?" The Doctor grinned at him. "Ten minutes. How about a story?"

Sam stretched. "Sounds good. Tell me about this planet - Origeens?"

"Origenes," the Doctor corrected. "The dominant species where we're going are amoeboids with three legs. They're a true democracy, not like the fake one you lot have. Everyone gets a say, isn't that great? Course, they're getting bigger now. Spreading out, pretty soon there'll be too many of them for anything but a republic. If they can keep the democracy at all, that is. They've got about five hundred years before it reaches that point."

"So when are we?"

"We are right about 700AD, by Earth time. It's the year ten by theirs. Today is the anniversary of their government's creation, which means?" He looked at Sam expectantly.

"Festival?" he guessed.

"Festival," the Doctor confirmed. "Their first civilization-wide celebration, and we'll be here to see it."

"Will they be expecting us? I mean, you said they were amoeboid, won't we be - I don't know-"

"Their first contact?" the Doctor smirked. "Nope. I said their government was just formed - not their people. The people have been building radios and talking for hundreds of years. This race was hurt, badly, by the race that controls the other continent. Slavery, in all senses of the word. Over time, enough of them ran away to form their own country. Joke's on the old kingdoms - the spot they settled has enough resources to keep them happy for centuries, more if they cultivate the land properly. The other continent's been an intergalactic hub for years - they built up, not out. They saw the twin suns and decided to try to reach them, and that was how they shaped their society. Using slave labor." Sam didn't think he imagined the loathing in the Doctor's voice. "But! They bowed to pressure and outlawed slavery, oh, nine years ago."

"Right after they all escaped."

"Yep! Once the amoeboids realized they could get away, they started leaving in droves, and the ampicomplexa scrambled to find a way to keep them there. They took the path nobody ever does and made life better for the amoeboids."

The console beeped. "Oh, good! We're about to land. You'll need shoes. Those won't do much good for you. It's a desert where we are."

"Okay, I'll go find-"

"And it's hot, so find a T-shirt."

"O-"

"And lighter jeans."

"Okay-"

"And-"

"I can dress myself," Sam interrupted. "Dress for the desert."

"Get a hat. Actually, get two. I have to land this sexy thing."

His attitude toward the TARDIS reminded Sam of Dean's love for the car, and he went to the closet rather than continue to see it.  
***  
"What," Sam breathed in awe.

The Doctor leaned on the side of the TARDIS, grinning. "I love this part."

"What part?"

"The reactions. Go on."

"The sand. It's - it's - _pink._ And that - is that a plant? Why is it yellow? Why is the sky purple? And there are _green suns! Green! Plural!_ "

The Doctor laughed. "Twin green suns. Purple sky - different atmosphere. Yellow plant to get the sunlight, same reason your plants are green."

"Should have figured that out," Sam mumbled, kneeling down and raking a hand through the sand. Rather than the coarse texture he was expecting, he instead found it as smooth as the colored sand he'd used once in art class at a school he'd forgotten in less than a year. "Is this natural sand?"

"Mm, should be. Why?"

"It's so _smooth._ Isn't sand crushed rock?"

"It's not crushed rock."

"So what is it?"

"Organic. Not sure what exactly."

Sam stood hastily and brushed his hands off. "What's that blue thing?"

"That is their building. I told you, for now, they're a tiny society. They don't need more than that one."

"What's that symbol?"

"Just wait a few minutes for the translation matrix to kick in."

Sam stood. "For the _what_ to kick in?"

"The translation matrix. It's how you're understanding me right now."

"Oh." Sam took a second to digest that. "So you're not actually…"

"Speaking English? No."

"Huh."

"What do you say we go find a party?"

Sam grinned and they started the trek. As they got closer to the building, Sam noticed bright red creatures carrying hexagonal brown boxes. "What are they carrying?"

"Not sure. Hello there!" he called.

The eyes, held above their bodies by a long cord, waved closer to them. One of them raised a limb and then retracted it into its body; the term 'amoeboid' suddenly made sense.

"Hello," the Doctor called again.

"Hello," one of them called back. Its voice was low and clear. "Here for the festival?"

"Indeed we are!"

Sam stopped to look at one of the plants. This close, he could see that it was dotted with tiny, blue, amorphous flowers, and it wasn't a smooth yellow - it was more granular.

"True desert plant," the Doctor said quietly. "Lives without water. Complete phototroph."

"How?"

"You know how your scientists are still looking for life on the Goldilocks planets? The ones that fit your criterion for life-sustaining capability?"

"Yeah?"

"They're wrong. Evolution occurs everywhere. Even on planets with no water to speak of."

"So-"

"No water."

"So-"

"No water!"

"So-"

"NO-"

"I heard you!" Sam yelled over him. "So, if there's no water, what are _we_ supposed to drink?"

"Oh, there are other liquids. Artificial, you know. Just, uh, maybe not drink any until I know they're safe for you?"

"Great," Sam grumbled, but his discontent didn't last long. He couldn't stop the smile from breaking out over his face.

The Doctor smiled back at him. "C'mon. The festival should be on the other side of their building."

As they walked, Sam asked, "Have you ever been here before?"

"Once. A long time ago, I visited the spaceport."

"How was it?"

"Just another spaceport. Seen one, seen 'em all."

They rounded a corner and Sam stopped dead in shock. When the Doctor had said it was a festival for a small population, he'd thought there might be a few stalls with a couple browsers who'd then go home fairly quickly. Instead, it was a solid mass of red and brown, with eyestalks above dodging and weaving to see through the mass. There was a weird sort of singing going on, liquid sounds Sam wasn't sure he could ever get his mouth to make. He noticed a few non-Origeneans walking around - something that looked like a cross between a tiger and a babushka doll that the Doctor identified as a Hillick, a few cactus-like Vinvocci, a family that looked human but the Doctor assured him were actually Trions - but they were far outnumbered by the locals.

"Look at that! Peace on Origenes. Fifty years ago this was just a dream, and now it's reality. Things change constantly, and it's great, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, still trying to process that he was _on an alien planet surrounded by aliens in the year 700 with pink sand and yellow plants and two green suns._

The Doctor grinned. "Let's go see what fun we can have, eh?" He grabbed Sam's hand and took off, dragging him into the throng of bodies. They were shorter than Sam had thought they'd be, their eyes only coming to his shoulder. Maybe they preferred being compact to minimize the surface being presented to the suns? Maybe it was a fashion statement? Maybe it took the least energy to maintain?

Sam pondered as the Doctor led him through the crowd, keeping a tight grip on his wrist. This close, he could see they weren't all the same shade of red. Some edged closer to maroon, some to fuchsia, still others toward pink. It made sense, after a moment's thought - it wasn't like all humans were the same shade, after all - but it was a little too much for his eyes to process.

He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It was _hot._ The Doctor smirked at him. "Told you to wear short sleeves."

"Yeah, well, I don't like them."

"Why not?"

"Just don’t."

"Hmmph." The Doctor eyed him suspiciously. "Anyway! Let's find something to drink. Should be right over there." He pointed through the throng and grabbed Sam's wrist again.

When they reached the giant bowls of what Sam went ahead and called 'punch' for the sake of having _something_ to call it, the Doctor pulled out his screwdriver and listened to the noises it made. "Good! It's safe for you," he told Sam, grabbing two cups and filling them before passing one over to Sam. "Drink to your heart's content."

"Awesome." He sipped at his drink; thin and - _clear_ , might be the best descriptor for the taste. Like filtered water without the lingering aftertaste of ozone. But there was something fruity there, near the end, fruity and smooth.

"Good?"

"Good." Sam grinned at him. "What is this stuff?"

"Ah - their name for it is llrarllh."

Sam blinked at him. "What?"

"Llrarllh."

"Laurril-hah?"

"Not even close."

"I'm just gonna call it punch, then."

"You do that."

Sam finished his cup and got a little more. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded; he'd clearly been hotter than he realized, and more dehydrated, too. The last time he'd drunk anything was lunch the previous day.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just a little dry." Sam smiled half-heartedly. "So what else is going on here?"

"in about ten minutes, there's going to be a dramatic reenactment of the founding."

"Sounds fun."

The Doctor snorted. "Let's go find the tent, then."

By the time they reached it, Sam's cup was dry and he was thirsty again. He helped himself to some more punch and followed the Doctor in, sitting next to him. He was a warm, solid weight pressing all along Sam's side when they scrunched together to make room on the bench for the locals.

"Visiting?" the one that sat next to him asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm Lilarl."

"I'm Sam."

It - he? she? - chittered. "Strange name. Where are you from?"

"Earth."

"Never heard of it. What star system?"

"Um…"

"Liftergen," the Doctor said in his ear.

"Liftergen," he repeated, tongue clumsy in his mouth.

"Oh, long way away. Didn't realize they had travel yet."

He was saved from having to answer by a boom from the front of the room, signaling the beginning of the play.

He wasn't quite sure how much he actually saw, given how much the room was tilting around him, but he remembered giggling a lot. By the time it was over an hour later, he was leaning pretty heavily into the Doctor to keep from falling onto the floor.

When the rest of the playgoers had left, the Doctor said, "I think that may have been alcoholic for you."

"This is what being drunk feels right?" Sam asked.

The Doctor smirked, and Sam got the sinking feeling he wasn't speaking as clearly as he thought he was. Or using the right words. "Probably. C'mon, let's get you back to the TARDIS."

"But - the festival -"

"There will be other festivals, Sam, believe me. Up you get." He put a hand under Sam's elbow and levered him to standing. "We'll get you some water in the TARDIS, and you'll be fine."

"Okay. Ooh! Look at that! It's so _pretty!_ "

He pointed at the sky enthusiastically, almost overbalancing, and the Doctor gripped his shirt at the neck to keep him upright. The suns were setting, banding the sky orange and yellow; had he not been inebriated, the muddiness would have probably repulsed him. Instead he kept staring, letting the Doctor steer him through the crowd and laughing at how ridiculously ludicrous sunset was when the sun was green instead of yellow. And two instead of one.

By the time they got back to the TARDIS Sam's feet refused to cooperate. The Doctor dropped him in the same chair he'd slept in the night before and messed around with the console.

"Y'need help?" Sam slurred.

"No, I got it."

"Good, 'cause I think I'd break it if I tried to help. Like I break everything. I'll probably break you eventually."

"You got to the maudlin part of drunk pretty fast, didn't you?"

Sam grumbled something; he wasn't sure what, but the TARDIS engines started whooshing and he fell asleep faster than he would have believed possible.

"Unbelievable," the Doctor mumbled when he turned to see Sam passed out in the chair, mouth slack and open.

The hangover Sam had the next morning was enough to make him swear off liquor forever.

**Author's Note:**

> The symbol on the building is cuneiform for 'harvest'. I thought it apropos for an agricultural society.


End file.
